


Lightning

by Wiarda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Camping, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 07:11:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiarda/pseuds/Wiarda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg convinces Mycroft to go on a holiday with him. Thanks to the terrible weather, they discover one of Mycroft's few fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 4 AM while I was half-asleep, purely to set my mind on other things than the nightmare I had before. So, that explains why this is so plotless. Ah well, everyone needs a bit of plotless Mystrade fluff from time to time, right?

It was Greg's idea to go on a holiday. Mycroft had tried to convince him that this wasn't the time to go camping, that he really couldn't leave London at the moment and that it would be better if they waited until there was enough space in his agenda to take some time off, but they both knew very well that he only said that because he didn't like camping. He could easily survive a week without the luxury he was used to, but it was clear he wasn't overly fond of sleeping on a lie-low between a few pieces of plastic, as he liked to describe it.

Greg tried everything to show him it really wasn't that bad. He researched a few good campsites in Italy and France and asked Mycroft what he thought about them. At most times, the man would only give a deep sigh and focus on whatever he was doing before again, but once he explained very clearly that he wasn't interested in camping and that Greg was wasting his energy on this. His tone was very calm when he spoke, but the DI knew that that was Mycroft-language for; “Shut up, it's not going to work.”

So, when Mycroft found himself a few weeks later in the middle of nowhere, he was somewhat surprised. They were inside a tent, a very small one, dressed in the warmest clothes they had. Thick raindrops drummed on the fabric and a cold wind played with the tent like a toy; there was a heavy thunderstorm expected this night. Mycroft felt terrible.

“I'm very sorry to say, but this is not going to work,” he said with chattering teeth. His lips had turned blue and his nose and toes felt numb. “With all respect, Gregory, but camping in May in the Netherlands wasn't your best idea.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. It'll get better, I'm sure.”

It didn't get better. The promised thunderstorm arrived soon. and not only did the cold become worse than ever, the noise was also horrible. Greg had given Mycroft his jacket to warm him up a bit, but the man seemed to take his former nickname quite seriously; every time Greg touched his face, he felt like he was touching ice. After listening to the chattering of his teeth for another two minutes, Greg decided the poor man had suffered enough now and came up with a plan.

“Come here,” he gestured. He spread his arms for him, making clear what he meant. Mycroft frowned.

“I think we both know that doesn't actually work. Besides, hugging has never been one of my favourite activi-”

Greg didn't listen. When he saw Mycroft wasn't going to come to him, he shifted a bit until he was close enough and simply pulled him in his arms. When he did that, Mycroft lost his balance and fell with his head against Greg's chest, but the DI didn't mind.

“Gregory, I mean it. Such an outing of affection has never really been my style. It's a bit too close for my taste, I'm afraid,” Mycroft protested, but he didn't try to push him away. He only wriggled a bit, probably in the hope to get more comfortable in the embrace. Mycroft may have been the smarter one of the couple, but Greg was physically much stronger.

“We've been much closer to each other before, Mycroft. Multiple times actually, and you know that. I only want to help you, so just relax and let me, okay?” the elder man muttered. Right at that moment, a flash of light was visible outside of the tent and was quickly followed by a loud noise. Subconsciously, Mycroft crawled closer to his partner.

“Just this once. I'm not fond of hugs.”

Greg smiled. “Oh, don't worry. I'll make sure this one isn't too bad.”

Greg Lestrade wasn't the most cuddly person London had ever met either, but he knew it was necessary if they wanted to stay warm during the storm. In fact, he quite liked a nice hug from time to time. He loosened his grip on Mycroft a bit, to give him the opportunity to find a more comfortable position, before wrapping his arms a bit tighter around him again.

“Relax,” he muttered, when he felt the other man tense up under his touch. Although they'd been much more intimate before, this felt oddly new. Something they hadn't explored together yet. “Come on, I won't kill you. Not now.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Very funny, Greg.” Despite the sarcastic response, he relaxed enough to rest his forehead on Greg's shoulder and nuzzle into his neck. Finally his senses caught something that felt like home; the familiar scent of Greg's cologne was a very welcome greeting to him. For one moment, he forgot the cold; his partner nearly gasped when his frozen nose accidentally made contact with his neck.

“Christ, glue a carrot to your face and you're a snowman.”

“Yes, I'm aware of that. Thank you.” Mycroft sighed, what caused a strange but not unpleasant tingling feeling in his lover's neck. “Why did I agree with joining you on this trip again?”

“Because you felt like you needed some air. Your work was giving you too much stress to cope with much longer, so after a lot of fuzz you could finally take two weeks off and now we're here.”

Another sigh, this time followed by a content hum coming from the Inspector. Mycroft pulled one eyebrow up, even though he knew Greg couldn't see it. “What is it?”

“Feels nice,” Gregory explained vaguely. His whole skin seemed to be more sensitive to his lover's touches than it'd been in a while; they had both been very busy last months, so there hadn't been much time left over to spend together. On the rare moments they had a couple of hours, the choices were limited; since they would both be too tired to leave the house, Mycroft would cook or they'd order takeaway (the last time Greg attempted to cook ended in disaster, so Mycroft abandoned him from the kitchen). After that they'd either watch a film or have sex, depending on how much energy they had left over and how much longer they could keep their libidos in check. They never had time for each other like they had now.

So, with that said, it wasn't too odd that Greg had to get used to the feeling of butterflies in his stomach again. He never loved Mycroft any less than he did now, but he finally allowed himself to feel it. Outside, the thunder was louder than before; Mycroft shivered.

“Don't tell me now that you're afraid of thunderstorms,” Greg laughed. Mycroft Holmes, the Iceman with a higher IQ than the whole of Scotland Yard together, was scared of a little lightning. The thought only was so ridiculous that the DI had trouble with stopping his laughter.

“I'm not _afraid_ of thunderstorms,” the younger man muttered as he buried his face in the other's shoulder. “I just prefer not to be in the middle of one with a few layers of plastic and cotton around me as my only protection.”

Greg was still chuckling, but pulled Mycroft closer as a sign of protectiveness nevertheless. His hand rested on the man's hair, but he didn't put any pressure on his head. For one moment, everything felt so right. There was no thunderstorm, nor was there cold. There was only the two of them, together. That sounded awfully cliché, Greg thought, but it was true.

That moment stopped when Mycroft moaned painfully. “My back,” he explained through grutted teeth. He tried to shift into a better position, but apparently the muscles in his back were too tensed and too cramped to let him. Greg didn't hesitate one moment.

“Take your shirt and jacket off and lie down,” he said. Mycroft was normally not the man to take orders, but this time he tried to do what he was told. He had some trouble with his shirt, though, so Greg had to help him with that part. Soon he lay down in front of him, shivering from the biting cold that could touch his nude upper body now.

Greg had given his lover multiple massages since the time they made it official. Mostly because Mycroft needed them; his daily life was sometimes so stressful that his body would have to pay the toll after a while. There was, however, also pleasure to find on the giving side. Greg loved to touch him, no matter in what way. He loved it when sounds of pain turned into sounds of relief and contentment, when he could just feel Mycroft relax under his hands.

That was exactly what was going to happen. Not only did those hands make his painful moans turn into content hums, they also warmed him up a bit in a way he hadn't expected. The familiar tingling in his belly had been pushed away to make space for all sorts of other feelings; stress, mostly. Now it had all the time and space to come back, and Mycroft only realised now how much he'd missed it. How much he'd missed being so close to Greg in a non-sexual way.

A few hours later, the thunderstorm had passed and the night had fallen. They both fell asleep in each other's arms, under a thick layer of bedsheets. The next morning they packed everything and nearly fled back to England on Mycroft's command, but Greg had secretly liked their short camping trip. Even though he had to admit that their trip to Spain a few days later was a much greater success, he couldn't stop thinking about that one night in Holland when Mycroft had for once pushed the boundaries of his comfort zone so far, that they'd actually cuddled for at least half an hour.

A night that appeared to repeat itself a few weeks later, long after they'd come back from Spain. Another series of thunderstorms passed, and despite the fact that they were safe between the walls of their home, Mycroft found himself longing for the DI's arms every time he heard a noise outside. So, a few minutes later, they were sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around the two of them, holding each other tightly. From that moment on, thunderstorms were Greg's favourite type of weather.


End file.
